Plea for Peace will close its doors in light of rising expenses

Middagh Goodwin is deeply disappointed. So are hundreds of musicians and thousands of their young supporters.

Tony Sauro

Middagh Goodwin is deeply disappointed. So are hundreds of musicians and thousands of their young supporters.

Bali Ranchod shares their frustration and futility.

"It's actually very sad," said Ranchod, whose family trust owns the building on Stockton's East Weber Avenue that won't be the Plea for Peace Center after Sunday. "Middagh and they all tried. (Officials in) Stockton want people to come downtown, then chase people away from downtown.

"They need to start again with a vision and a plan and stop screwing around. It's very sad."

Ranchod might sound like one of the protesting punk-rockers who've ranted at the five-year-old venue - nonprofit, all-ages, alcohol-free, affordable and safe - since 2008.

Nope. He's a 50-year-old native of Lusaka, Zambia, who's lived in Stockton for 10 years and administers the Ranchod Family Trust's downtown properties.

Three months ago, he reduced Goodwin's monthly lease payments from $2,400 to $1,000 in an attempt to salvage the situation. Not even that worked.

The Plea for Peace Center, where 10,000 people - "if not more," Goodwin said - attended 500 rock, punk, metal, ska, ska-punk, reggae, hip-hop, alternative-rock, screamo, punk-pop and totally whacko shows and other slam-poetry, arts and community events, closes Sunday when 10 bands play it goodbye.

The Hella Hecka Plea Fest costs $5. The bands, from Stockton, Lodi, Tracy, Sacramento and San Jose, are donating their time and talent. Stockton's Hellamad Records, five of the groups' label, is paying for a free barbecue.

"It's a bummer," said Goodwin, 46, who's been promoting concerts in Stockton for four decades and managed the Plea for Peace Center without ever making a salary. "We just don't have the money to keep going. Just throwing and throwing money out. We hoped to turn it around. It's a lot of work to put into it without getting paid. That's OK, but with no money, then it comes out of my own pockets."

Goodwin relied solely on volunteer help. Costs of insurance, licensing fees, inspections, maintenance and utilities - between $4,000 and $5,000 now - made the situation untenable.

"Everybody has a soft spot in their hearts for the center," said Stockton's Chris McClure, 25, a multi-tasking venue volunteer who helped organize Sunday's shut-down show and plays in two of the bands (Between Pacific Coasts, Place Called Home). "So does Middagh. For the center and Stockton. The greatest intentions don't always work out.

"Originally, I told bands it would be one last show, when they knew it probably would be the very last show, it's really touching that so many reached out."

Well, sort of. ... When Goodwin first revealed in late April that he might have to close the center, "People said, 'We've 'just gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta do something,' " he recalled a bit acidly. "Car washes. Anything. None of that happened."

"Obviously, we understand both sides of that. That's a nonprofit that can't afford to stay and can't find grants or donors to keep a program running."

Broderick's ready reliance on talking points - foot traffic near transportation hubs, charter schools, finding new businesses and perpetuating downtown's history - was revealing. How does that relate to the Plea for Peace Center?

"We helped out and dropped the rent," said Ranchod, also alluding to permits and other regulatory realities Goodwin and San Jose's Mike Park faced when they used a $10,000 grant to open the center in December 2008. "What did they (city bureaucrats) do for them? Why not a little bit of a tax break as an incentive? Nobody's gonna grow the city from the outside. It's gotta grow from the inside."

The Plea for Peace Center, a 5,000-square-foot building that could accommodate 300 people, was modeled on 924 Gilman Street, a Berkeley bastion of punk rock. Goodwin and the venue have won awards and been honored by civic organizations.

This really is an ongoing disgrace. Goodwin's center became a formative - secure - home for young local musicians and their friends. International bands and musicians considered it a trusted, welcoming and supportive stop on their tours. They knew about "that cool place" in Stockton, California. Some people here didn't.

Many mid-size communities - let alone one in bankruptcy - struggles with the peaks-and-valleys vagaries of the entertainment business.

As Ranchod said, the Plea for Peace Center - a former Volkswagen repair shop - was "clean." It was a safe, encouraging and empowering environment for young people.

Only a few folks who could have helped seemed to care or be aware. Sadly, no surprise there.

Goodwin, who grew up in Modesto and now actually gets paid to work at the Hero's club there, will keep producing concerts.

"I did some things I probably would have done differently," Goodwin said. "It was a learning experience. If we'd been open one-half year and then closed the door, that would have been a shame. There were times I felt burned out. I'm not going to stop promoting shows. There are a few options. Other spots in Stockton." ... Just not a real "home."